


Searching For a Sound We Hadn't Heard Before

by Care



Series: The 1989 Project [1]
Category: Lizzie Bennet Diaries
Genre: F/F, Roadtrips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-03-04 00:03:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2892998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Care/pseuds/Care
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first word Lydia ever says to Gigi Darcy is "fuck". Not because she's trying to be a badass, and not because she's trying to scare Gigi off. It's mostly because Lydia is clumsy, and her pain threshold is low, and -- those are the only reasons, really.</p><p>Or: Lydia and Gigi across America.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Searching For a Sound We Hadn't Heard Before

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this fic when the show was still airing -- way, way back in 2013. So that's when this fic takes place, very soon after the show ends.
> 
> This also means I didn't adhere to a lot of stuff that happened, like Gigi going to Sanditon for example. Also, I know that Gigi did live with Darcy, but...I changed it. Because of reasons.
> 
> This fic is part of the 1989 Project, a collaborative project where some writers and I are writing a fic per song (spanning many fandoms) from Taylor Swift's new album. Mine is the very first one, and I was lucky enough that it matched "Welcome to New York", which is where the title comes from.
> 
> Thank you so, so much to all of my patient friends who I've been talking to about this fic for basically forever. I know. I finished it. No one thought it would happen. :)

The first word Lydia ever says to Gigi Darcy is "fuck". Not because she's trying to be a badass, and not because she's trying to scare Gigi off. It's mostly because Lydia is clumsy, and her pain threshold is low, and -- those are the only reasons, really.

It's her first visit to San Francisco after, well, after everything. Lydia's washing wine glasses in Lizzie's tiny kitchen (she doesn't know why her sister insists on having her own apartment, since Lydia bets everything in her bank account that Darcy has an amazing place). She's half-singing and half-humming to Beyonce on her iPod, doing a little shimmy and trying not to trip on something. It's hard, in a kitchen that barely qualifies as closet-sized. When she glances up, Gigi Darcy is staring at her from the doorway, holding a bulging canvas bag.

Lydia's bare heel bangs into an Ikea butcher block cart and she nearly drops the wine glass she's holding. "Fuck," she says, trying not to be too loud, feeling the pain pulse through her foot. She rips out her headphones, music still blaring. She only manages to stop it by pulling the headphones from the iPod.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to sneak up on you!" Gigi rushes in, dropping the bag on the counter. "Can I get you something? Band-Aid? Ice?"

"Ow -- no -- I'm fine. Thanks." Lydia balances herself on one leg to examine her heel. It's a little red, but unharmed as far as she can tell. "Uh. Are you...looking for Lizzie?"

"Yeah, she invited me over for dinner. I'm Gigi, by the way. I didn't mean to be so rude. My brother would kill me."

She sticks out her hand for Lydia to shake. Her grasp is warm and firm. It's a good shake, that's what Lydia's dad would say, a good indication of character.

"I know," Lydia says before she really thinks about it. "I'm Lydia."

"I know," Gigi echoes.

Well then. They stare at each other. Lydia takes in Gigi's fitted summer dress, the light cardigan over her shoulders, her parted dark hair. She and Darcy look so much alike -- they share the same firmness set around the mouth, the shape of their cheekbones. Lydia feels suddenly grubby in one of Jane's old college t-shirts and jean shorts, even though all she's really done today is putter around Lizzie's apartment.

"Lizzie is," Lydia starts.

Lizzie is entering the kitchen, apparently, though there's definitely not enough room for three grown people and the elephant of social awkwardness.

"Gigi, hey, I didn't expect you so soon!" Lizzie says. Lydia watches them as they maneuver into a hug, despite the tight space. "I was just taking a business call. You've met Lydia?"

Lydia folds her arms across her chest. "We've introduced ourselves."

"Yeah, got here sooner than expected, and one of your neighbors was heading out so they let me in the front door. I went to the farmers' market for groceries  -- but I'm afraid I startled Lydia when I came in."

"I know. Sorry, Lyd, I got caught up."

Lydia waves it off, wanders back to the sink to finish rinsing out the glasses.

"Is my brother coming?" Gigi unearths produce from the bag, speckling the floor with dirt. A bunch of carrots, four ears of corn. A carton of eggs. Artisanal bread.

"No, he's got a meeting. But, I thought this could be fun?" Lizzie's voice goes up at the end, and Lydia knows Lizzie's directing the question at her.

She turns around, wiping her wet hands on a dishcloth. "Totes," she says, smiling, because Lizzie wants her to.

 

*

 

They make omelettes and eat them with the windows open in Lizzie's living-cum-dining room, the tables and chairs pushed close together. They talk about San Francisco and Darcy and Italy (for some reason) and Dad's love of model trains, and when the conversation dips to Pemberley and Lizzie's company, Lydia decides to just go ahead and help herself to the last of the white wine. She drinks it watching the sun drop lower over Gigi's shoulder, the blaze of light both mesmerizing and blinding.

She excuses herself to grab a sweatshirt and a few minutes later when she returns, the sweatshirt draped around her, she realizes Lizzie and Gigi have barely noticed she's been gone. It sucks, Lydia realizes with a pang, how far away all three Bennet sisters are now. And it sucks too, even though she knows Lizzie loves her, just how easily it seems like she can be replaced.

"So what are your plans for the rest of the summer, Lydia?" Gigi asks.

Lydia's been idly wondering when's the best time she can plead out of the interminable chatter due to a headache. It takes her a second to process Gigi's question. "I, uh, I've got summer classes."

"What are you taking?"

"The Works of Jane Austen. Genetics. Intro to Stats."

"You're not interested in communications?"

Lydia takes a breath and looks Gigi straight in the eyes. "I'm not really into vlogging like Lizzie," she says steadily.

There's a long silence.

"Well, I'm not anymore. Vlogging." Lizzie darts her gaze back and forth between the other two. She looks worried, the skin above the bridge of her nose puckering.

"It's hard to make the time," Gigi says, easy. When she smiles it looks natural and not forced. Lydia tries to find the pity that she knows must be somewhere, but she doesn't see it at all. Not in Gigi's expression.

She clenches and unclenches her hand beneath the table. Her palm is damp with sweat. Just because the two of them have George Wickham in common doesn't mean they're going to be friends. It doesn't mean anything. It just means that once they were both stupid enough to -- Lydia cuts her train of thought off. That's the kind of thing she's been working on with her therapist.

They stack their plates and take them into the kitchen. Lizzie grabs two pints of ice cream from the freezer, Cherry Garcia and straight-up chocolate. They don't bother with bowls, just dig in indiscriminately with spoons.

"Do you have plans for tomorrow?" Gigi gestures with her spoon towards Lydia.

Lydia licks a melted trail of ice cream from her thumb. "Uh. No?" She looks to Lizzie.

"I've been swamped with work," Lizzie says, apologetic. "We did the tourist-y stuff yesterday, but it's been hard to get away since then."

"I'd be happy to show you around. If you'd like. We could grab lunch in Chinatown. Go shopping."

Lizzie looks relieved. Lydia isn't sure how to take that. She didn't know she was such a burden, coming here to visit her sister like this. She suddenly wishes she were home.

"Sure," she says, a beat too late. "Thanks."

 

*

 

"That's not too weird, is it?" Lizzie asks before they go to bed. "Hanging out with Gigi?"

Lydia pauses in the middle of scrolling through her Twitter feed. She sits up, and the couch squeaks beneath her shifting weight. "Should it be weird?"

Lizzie sits on the arm. She's got her pajamas on, and if Lydia closes her eyes and breathes, she swears that they're back home, because Lizzie's face wash smells the same as always. "No, of course not. I just didn't want you to feel like I'm forcing you to hang out with Gigi."

"No, it's totally fine," Lydia lies.

"I don't want you to feel like you're going to be thinking about W -- " Lizzie stops, bites her lip a bit. Lydia thinks it's amazing that after all this time, Lizzie finds it easier saying George's name to millions of strangers on the internet than to Lydia herself.

"Wickham," Lydia finishes for her. "You can say his name to me. It's okay. I'm not going to drop dead."

Lizzie smiles a little. "I know. I mean, he's not Voldemort, right?"

I don't think you know, Lydia wants to say, but she holds it back. She rolls her eyes and says instead: "God, Lizzie, dork much? Stop being so totally lame. It's such a turn-off for guys."

Lizzie shoves her shoulder lightly. "Go to bed, Lydia."

 

*

 

Lydia has to get up at the asscrack of dawn in order to meet Gigi for breakfast. It's June, for fuck's sake, and she's on vacation. Who would want to get breakfast at 8 when they're on vacation? Even got-a-fancy-job-Lizzie's still sipping her coffee, reading the news on her laptop, when Lydia grabs her purse to leave. She pauses at the door to give into a jaw-cracking yawn, trying to stifle it with one hand.

"You look really nice, Lydia. It's a great dress," Lizzie says, following her into the hall.

"Oh thanks, I stole it from your closet." Lydia grins at Lizzie's expression. "Love ya, sis!"

So now she's sitting in a diner, sleepy and annoyed, cupping a steaming mug of coffee as Gigi Darcy peruses endless pancake options. Lydia orders a short stack and a side of hash browns and fidgets with her fork as she waits for Gigi.

"I really like pancakes," Gigi says, by way of explanation, when she finally places her order (banana walnut, with extra syrup).

"Are there people who don't like pancakes?"

As soon as she asks the question, Lydia knows what Gigi is going to say. "William. He's actually not a fan of sweet breakfast foods."

"God, he's so fucking weird," Lydia mutters, too tired to realize what she's saying. "Uh, sorry."

"No, he's really fucking weird," Gigi agrees, nodding. She catches Lydia's eye and they both laugh, softly, and everything feels...okay. "He's always been kind of..." Gigi shrugs, smiles. "Even as a kid."

"Do you live over there? At his place?"

Gigi tears open a little packet of sugar and pours it into her coffee, stirring. "No, that'd be the worst. Especially now with him and Lizzie all over each other. I share an apartment with two roommates."

"Oh -- I thought -- you'd have a place…"

"Sure, but it's more fun to live with other people. I think it gets lonely being by yourself, you know?"

When Gigi looks at her this time, it feels like she can see everything inside of Lydia's head, like she knows how alone Lydia feels with Jane and Lizzie out of the house, how she's been repairing all the friendships she damaged when she was with George, how she's come up to San Francisco feeling like she doesn't fit into Lizzie's fabulous new life anymore. It's unsettling. Lydia's hand shakes a little when she takes a sip of her coffee.

"I guess."

"Hey, um, guess what I have?" Gigi says, nimbly changing the subject. She pulls out her wallet. "William's AmEx." She waves the credit card between two fingers. "So, anywhere you wanna go today -- it's on him."

Lydia's surprised into laughing. "Does he know you have that?"

"He'll find out in a few hours."

Okay. So maybe today won't suck as badly as Lydia is anticipating.

 

*

 

Lydia tells no one this, not her sisters or parents, not any of her friends or Mary, not even her therapist (who she really should be telling), but sometimes she pulls up her old vlogs from YouTube on her computer and watches them one-by-one. She watches her face and George's, his eyes and his hands. She watches her own fingers curl around his jaw, her mouth open beneath his. She feels sick when she watches the videos, but she can't make herself stop, because she's watching all the broken pieces of herself exposed and vulnerable and George stripping her layers away.

Some days she feels close to that girl, and some days she feels far away.

It's not your fault, she thinks fiercely, so hard that tears prickle her eyes. It's not your fault that he did this, that he's like this. Nothing you did made him do this to you. But there's still that part of her that's very quiet and very small and very persistent that says -- but there must have been something you did to deserve this.

And then she wipes her running nose with her hand and shuts her laptop and thinks about which part of George she'd punch first if she saw him again. She focuses on this because she's not really sure what would happen if she saw him again. Because part of her is afraid that maybe, even after all this, she'd still let him kiss her.

 

*

 

They go to Gigi's apartment mid-afternoon, because Lizzie's in meetings all day and Lydia doesn't have a spare key and they _really_ want to try on the clothes they bought. Gigi puts her bags down at her feet as she works the key into the lock on her front door, wiggling it back and forth until the door gives away.

"Stubborn lock," she says, kicking off her shoes. "Come in!"

Lydia isn't sure what she was expecting, but it probably wasn't this. It's smaller than Lydia had imagined it'd be, and messily homey -- prints and posters all over the walls, books scattered across the coffee table. There are about five different woven blankets (all in earth tones) thrown across the sofa. Lydia takes off her flats too, putting her shopping bags by the TV. Gigi shoves aside some magazines and remotes off the end of the sofa, and Lydia sits down.

"It's nice," she says, looking around.

"Julie, one of my roommates, is working on her dissertation." Gigi nods towards the books. "She's moved the entire school library back here. Most of the stuff is hers or Libby's."

She shows Lydia around the rest of the apartment. It's all so...normal, nothing like how Lydia thinks Darcy's sister would live like. It should be penthouses and chrome, marble counters in the kitchens. Gigi's kitchen is crowded with appliances. There's a pile of crumbs on the counter by the toaster and a hanging basket of onions by the window, just like at Lydia's house.

"William's place is way nicer," Gigi says when she opens the door to her room, which, aside from being as neat as a pin, is also nothing to write home about.

"I like it," Lydia insists. "It's comfortable."

"It doesn't have a rooftop deck, but it'll do."

Lydia glances at Gigi to see if she's serious. Gigi gives her a crooked grin. "Rooftop deck? Really?" Lydia would looooove a rooftop deck. She can't believe Lizzie hasn't mentioned the rooftop deck.

"Yeah," Gigi nods. "Really."

"He must have some bitchin' parties."

Gigi snort-laughs, which is kind of endearing. "Mmm," she hums, struggling to keep a straight face. "Yeah, William's _definitely_ in the habit of throwing 'bitchin' parties'." She grabs Lydia's hand, drags her back to the living room. "C'mon! You have to try that skirt with the top you got at H &M."

 

*

 

 _Sry, still in meetings! :(_ , Lizzie texts a few hours later. Lydia reads it twice and shuts her phone (since she's the last person on earth to still have a flip-phone). She wiggles her toes in her new shoes and stares down at them critically. She needs to paint her nails again; they're chipped. She thinks about eating dinner alone in Lizzie's apartment -- pasta, maybe with that questionable container of pesto that's in the fridge. The lameness of this vacation is starting to rival the family trip they took to Minnesota when Lydia was 8 to visit relatives she didn't even know existed.

She hears Gigi's phone go off in the kitchen, and the muffled noise of Gigi's voice answering it. Lydia grabs a book off the coffee table and flips through it. Something about architectural stuff, she doesn't really understand any of the words.

"Hey," Gigi pokes her head out. "You should stay for dinner."

Lydia's gaze goes towards the phone Gigi's holding. "Was that Lizzie?" she asks, off a hunch.

"Yeah. She said she was going to miss dinner. So. How about you stay?"

"You know, that's okay." She stands up, starts gathering up clothes and putting them back into shopping bags. "I should head out."

"No, really, stay." Gigi crosses over to her, takes the Forever 21 bag out of Lydia's hand. "My roommates will be around anyway. We love doing big dinners, and we always make too much food -- "

"I know you're doing this for Lizzie," Lydia says, her cheeks going hot. She presses on regardless. "I know she asked you to let me stay." The look on Gigi's face is very still. "Look, thanks for taking me out today. It was really nice of you. But you don't have to keep, I don't know, being my pity friend or whatever. It's fine. I can take care of myself."

"I'm not pitying you," Gigi starts to say, but she's gone all red too, so Lydia doesn't believe her. "Yeah, okay, Lizzie asked me to have you stay for dinner, but I'm not, this isn't -- "

"We shouldn't have to be fucking friends just because we have George Wickham in common." Lydia almost shouts it. Or at least that's how it feels, when it comes out, all loud and angry, like the words are burning her throat. It shakes the space between them. Her whole body is trembling.

Gigi stares at her, mute. She takes a step backwards. Lydia snatches the opportunity to gather her things together again, balling up shirts, just trying to get out. She wants to _run_.

"Stop."

Lydia pauses. Gigi's voice is raspy, a little bit edgy. There's a sharpness there that Lydia hasn't heard before.

"You're right. We shouldn't have to be friends because of George."

That admission is surprising enough that Lydia turns around.

Gigi reaches over and takes hold of Lydia's wrist. Her fingers are cold, but soft. "We also shouldn't let him keep us from being friends if we want to be. Fuck him."

The blood's still pounding in Lydia's ears. She can feel her heart thumping, hard, slamming in her chest from the adrenaline. She looks down at Gigi's hand and back to her face.

Lydia swallows twice before she can speak. "You're not like a gross vegan or anything, are you?"

"Hi, do you not remember how much butter I put on my pancakes?" Gigi wrinkles her nose. "Besides, why would I ever give up cheese?"

 

*

 

She spends her next three days hanging out with Gigi. It's like a crash-course in friendship, being in this San Francisco bubble. Gigi doesn't even have to go into work, which must be some sort of brother-being-the-boss perk, and Lydia can't complain. They walk around the city and watch movies at Gigi's place and get their nails done. Lydia definitely didn't come into this thinking she would leave being friends with Gigi Darcy, or even liking her, but she is, and she does.

Darcy invites them (plus Lizzie, obviously, but basically she's co-hosting) to dinner at his place on Lydia's last night in town. While Lizzie and Darcy are distracted, probably making out, Gigi steals a bottle of wine from the kitchen and they go up to the rooftop deck, which is even more amazing than anything Lydia could have possibly imagined. They change into bikinis and get tipsy soaking in the tub. When Darcy comes up to say that he and Lizzie are going to pick up takeout for dinner, Gigi just waves in response while Lydia tries to hide her wine glass (it falls into the tub).

Lydia tilts her head back, tendrils of her hair floating in the water. Gigi's doing the same thing, her skin flushed from the heat.

"Darcy sanitizes this thing, right?" Lydia asks. "Because I don't want to find evidence that he's sex-ing my sister up in here."

"Oh my god, gross," Gigi yells, and splashes water at her.

"They've totally boned in here!" Lydia says, though now it's just to see Gigi's reaction. It doesn't disappoint, that's for sure. Gigi shrieks and splashes even more, but Lydia catches a glimpse of her smile, the blue of the lit water reflecting off the even line of Gigi's teeth.

Gigi holds up her hand, splays the fingers. "I'm pruning, pervert."

"Are you calling me a pervert? I'm just pointing out the obvious."

"Admit it. You like them together."

Lydia dunks her head underwater in answer. It feels good against her cold ears. When she emerges, the air is crisper and she gasps. "I guess," she says, pushing wet hair out of her eyes, and wiping water from her mouth. "It's less annoying than having them just stare at each other, with all the sexual tension."

"Tell me about it." Gigi flicks a few drops in Lydia's direction. "I wish you weren't going home tomorrow. Fitz is going to be back next week, and we would have so much fun."

"I'll come back. Can't let this rooftop deck go to waste. Bitchin' parties, remember?"

"According to you, it's not going to waste. Our siblings are banging all over the place."

"That is kind of gross, isn't it?"

"Super gross."

They get out of the water and wrap big fluffy towels around themselves. Gigi swiped them from Darcy's linen closet, and they're like the softest towels Lydia's ever touched. She cocoons herself in hers and they scurry downstairs to change in the guest suite (who has a guest suite -- apparently William Darcy). Lydia takes the bathroom, the tiled floor cold beneath her toes. She undoes her bikini tie, listening to Gigi chatter from outside the door.

"Well, I'm going to have to come visit you. I really want to. I feel like I just get glimpses of your house from Lizzie's videos, and I'm dying to meet your parents."

Lydia pulls on her shirt. "My mother's just going to interrogate you about your love life."

"I can handle her," Gigi assures her.

"She's really focused on Jane and Lizzie right now, so maybe you'll get away unharmed." Lydia snags one of her fingers on a knot in her hair. "Shit, ow. Hey, do you have a brush?"

"Yeah, it's here. I'm dressed. You can come out."

When Lydia cracks open the door, Gigi's putting earrings in and she motions to the hairbrush on the bed. Lydia sits down on the clean white sheets, aware that she's still kind of damp. Gigi lies next to her, seemingly uncaring of how nicely the bed is made.

"Your mom -- she still doesn't know?" Gigi asks after a minute.

Lydia pauses. "No. She...asks about him sometimes."

Gigi touches Lydia's arm with her own, but doesn't say anything. Lydia goes back to brushing her hair, the strokes long and even, until nothing else catches.

 

*

 

The rest of the summer doesn't quite live up to Darcy's rooftop deck. Lydia goes to classes and hangs out with friends and runs errands for her mother. She goes back to Carter's with a few people, but it's not really the same (though she plays an amazing game of Whack-A-Mole). Everything feels like it's slightly muted. She ends up dividing her free time between watching My Strange Addiction on Netflix Instant and letting Mary take her to lame parties where the music isn't danceable and the only beer available is PBR.

"I just want to focus on school," she snaps at her mother when asked why she isn't dating more. A year ago she would've never imagined those words coming out of her mouth.

Lizzie and Jane are both busy, though they're trying more, which Lydia can appreciate. There are more phone calls and texts and sometimes Lizzie will gchat Lydia in the middle of the day when they're both supposed to be paying attention to other things (Lydia, stats; Lizzie, work). Jane does this once and it surprises Lydia so much that she almost knocks her laptop off her desk ("Isn't it the middle of the workday for you?" "I'm taking a late lunch, Lydia, and I wanted to talk to you!")

Gigi texts too, a lot. Lydia joins the 21st century and gets an iPhone, so they play Draw Something together and engage in some Twitter warfare with Fitz. It makes Lydia smile, which in the haze of boredom she's currently in, is nice. Some days she feels like she needs to get out of town. Not quite like last year, when she ran away to LA, but more like a weird form of cabin fever.

"You can come visit me in New York," Jane offers when Lydia Facetimes her. Bing's in the background, even if Lydia can't see him. He's always around now. "I'll pay for the plane ticket."

Which is beyond anything Lydia would have expected. She expresses her gratitude by shrieking into the phone and Jane laugh-winces and Lydia does a dance around her room.

"We have to do _everything_!" Lydia exclaims when she collapses back on her bed, a little disheveled.

"Your first time in New York? Of course we will," Jane assures her.

 _OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG_ , Lydia sends to Gigi. She's already making a mental checklist of places she has to see. Times Square, of course, and the Empire State Building. She's pretty sure she could get Bing to spring for tickets for a Broadway show. She's going to run through Central Park like a fucking crazy person.

 _WHAT?????_ Gigi responds promptly. She's almost always prompt.

 _NYC!!!!!!!!_ Lydia texts back.

Gigi's answer is just a lot of exclamation points, and like four weird animal emojis. Lydia has to squint at them for a bit before she can make out that they're koalas.

"So when are you going?" Gigi asks a few hours later when she calls. Lydia can hear something crinkling from the other end, and Fitz's voice, muted.

"When my classes are done. So, three weeks?" Lydia stops scrolling through flights. "I might die from being too excited before then though."

"I'm so jealous," Gigi says cheerfully. "I love New York. You're going to have the best time."

"You should come." The words fall out before Lydia can contain them. She starts backpedaling immediately. "I mean, I'm sure you're really busy at work. I just wish -- I think it would be fun. To hang out with you in New York. Um."

Totes not weird to invite a person you met like a month ago to go on vacation with you, right? Lydia will never talk again because if she does, she will end up with no friends.

Gigi just laughs a little. "It would be _awesome_ to hang out with you in New York. I wish I could come too."

They keep the conversation going for a while, talking about nothing really, Gigi filling her in about the latest gross gossip involving Lizzie and Darcy. Lydia gets put on speaker then so Fitz can join in.

"You're being suspiciously quiet about your date from the other night, Gigi D," Fitz says.

Lydia falters. She takes a quick breath. "You had a date? You didn't...mention that."

"Oh my god, Fitz. It wasn't a big deal. That's why I didn't say anything. He's just this guy I knew from college who was in town for a job interview. He asked me to dinner -- I didn't even know it was a date."

Fitz starts laughing. "Until he tried to kiss you at the end and you almost fell off the pier."

" _Wow_ , wow, I am _never_ telling you anything again."

Lydia cracks a smile. "The pier?"

"He's exaggerating, obviously." Gigi's tone is aggrieved. "I didn't fall off anything, but I did lose my balance a little when I was moving out of the way of his...mouth."

"He was cute though?" Fitz giggles.

"He was okay, and that's the last question I'm answering about this. Can we please go back to talking about about, I don't know, anything else?"

But Lydia has to go -- homework. She says goodbye and hangs up, tries to do some of her reading for her class. She's read the same passage at least four times before she realizes she hasn't taken in a word. She's still thinking about Gigi and the mediocre date -- some random dude trying to kiss Gigi. There's this weird, itching feeling in her chest and she coughs, experimentally, to see if it's bronchitis or something. It's not. Lydia puts her book down on the nightstand and hugs a pillow instead.

Whatever. In three weeks she'll be in New York.

 

*

 

The next morning Lydia wakes up to an Instagram picture of Gigi holding a sign. _Guess what???_ the sign says, and Gigi has this mysterious little smile on her face. She's tagged Lydia in the description. Actually, the tag is all it says. Five people have liked it already -- which is just perplexing to Lydia -- what does it even mean? Lydia sits up in bed, her knees tenting the sheets, and texts Gigi.

_idk what i'm supposed to be guessing._

There's a reply when Lydia gets out of the shower. She checks her phone for it before she does anything, still dripping in her towel and shivering slightly in the too-strong chill of her air-conditioned room: _Come on, you can guess! It's more fun that way._

 _it's really not,_ Lydia says back, and starts towel-drying her hair.

She gets a series of pictures in response. They're all Gigi at her desk, holding up sheets of computer paper. There's a stick figure on the first one, and an arrow pointing to it that says "you". The second is another stick figure. The arrow to that one says "me". The third is a drawing of a car, with the two stick figures in it. Underneath Gigi's written "roadtripping..." Lydia's heart gives a furious thump, and she selects the last picture. Gigi's drawn a bunch of buildings in a skyline attempt and she's written, "...to New York!"

Lydia sits on the bed, the phone in her lap, still displaying that last picture of Gigi and the New York skyline. It must mean something, though Lydia doesn't even know what she wants it to mean. These days it feels like everything she's doing is loaded with meaning. She takes a breath, and then another, and lies back with her wet hair fanning out around her head. She's grinning, Lydia realizes. She's grinning so hard her face hurts, and there's this buzzing in her stomach, moving its way up. Like champagne bubbles.

 _You there???_ Gigi says.

 _omg_ Lydia writes back.

_Good omg or bad omg????_

Which makes Lydia sit up and grab her phone. She takes a selfie of her face, her wide smile, and sends it to Gigi, along with: _GOOD OMG OBVS!!!!!!!!!!_

 _phew_ , Gigi says, with a smiley face emoji.

 

*

 

The Friday before they head out, Gigi drives down from San Francisco. Lydia finishes her last final that morning, trying to focus her mind on Punnett squares and RNA processing, and not on where Gigi might be at that moment. She gets out at noon, bursting breathless into the hallway, and immediately digs her hand into her bag for her turned-off phone. Three texts arrive simultaneously when she switches it back on, and she scrolls down, reading them with a small smile.

_Leaving now!_

_oops, last-minute pit stop, really leaving now!_

_Oh noooooooo traffic :(_

"Who's that from?" Em, the girl Lydia sometimes sits with in Genetics, asks. She pokes her head over Lydia's shoulder while shoving a notebook into her bag. "Boyfriend?"

"No one. A friend," Lydia mutters, her cheeks hot. She says bye in a rush, and runs outside towards her car before Em can ask any more questions.

It's mid-afternoon when Gigi arrives, unfolding herself from the driver's seat, pushing her sunglasses to her forehead. The sight of her gives Lydia a jolt. It's like she's been holding one image of Gigi in her mind these last few weeks -- since her visit -- and now actual Gigi is throwing it off. She's strangely taller than Lydia remembers. Lydia has to take a breath at the door before running out into the baking sun, her bare feet burning against the asphalt. Gigi grins, and throws her arms around Lydia. It's a tight hug, blurry, smelling like sunscreen and shampoo and strands of their hair tangle and get into Lydia's mouth because she's sort of shrieking -- a little -- but Gigi is too, and Lydia doesn't mind looking so psychotic in front of the neighbors. They've seen worse.

"Oh my god, Lyd!" Gigi is yelling, her mouth pressed close to Lydia's ear. It sends this hot wave of something through Lydia. "New York!"

"Oh my god!" is all Lydia can think of to add.

They break apart after another few seconds, still laughing. Lydia tilts her head towards the car. "Come inside, dork. It's a million fucking degrees out."

"Yeah, fuck," Gigi breathes. "Forgot about the desert climate." She reaches into the backseat and drags out a small suitcase. "I'm ready for the full Bennet tour."

It really isn't much, but Lydia does her best to make it entertaining. They dump Gigi's stuff in Lydia's room, and take a tour of the house -- running into Lydia's mom downstairs who makes a big fuss over how pretty Gigi is. ("Oh, my goodness, Lydia never said how beautiful you are!" " _Mom_ , seriously?"). Lydia drives them out to get ice cream, and they eat it in the little grassy clearing outside town hall, lying on the grass, licking up ice cream before it melts over their hands. Gigi turns onto her stomach when she's finished, smiling.

"What's up, lamer?" Lydia says, popping the last of the waffle cone into her mouth.

"I'm excited," Gigi says.

Just her saying it makes Lydia feel butterflies again. "Me too," she says, and thinks about Times Square. Neon lights and the press of people and Gigi laughing next to her.

After dinner (Lydia's dad grills steaks and corn on the cob in the yard, and her mom makes potato salad) there isn't much to do. Lydia takes Gigi to Carter's because, well, there aren't that many options, and it's where Whack-a-Mole is. It's not really a nice place or Lydia's favorite place even; it's just -- familiar. They change five dollars for quarters and take over the jukebox, egging each other on. Lydia drinks her first beer too fast, doesn't even really taste it, and Gigi grins at her before ducking back to the bar for another.

"Sorry about my mom," Lydia says over the music, leaning forward on her elbows in the booth by the back corner.

Gigi laughs. "No, it's cool. I really liked her. And your dad. They love you a lot."

She says things like she means them, and it's dumb, but that makes Lydia like her _more_. She's not the biggest proponent of her parents herself, and it's still, Lydia can't explain it. It's like a warm rush filling up in her chest. Her mom was right -- Gigi _is_ beautiful. Her dark hair, tumbling over one shoulder, is longer than it was, and her eyes, the way she's looking at Lydia, and her smile. Lydia doesn't have words for Gigi's smile, how wide it gets, how she looks like she means it every single time.

Lydia suddenly starts, jerking backwards, and nearly upsets the beer in front of her.

"Whoa, calm down," Gigi says, reaching out a hand. "Are you okay?"

"Thought I saw something," Lydia says faintly, her heart pounding, the ache and dizziness of it familiar yet strange.

 

*

 

Lydia has disjointed dreams, broken and hazy, full of jagged edges. She keeps waking up, thinking she's heard something. Across the hall Gigi's sleeping in Lizzie's room, on Lizzie' s worn floral sheets, her collection of Beanie Babies looking on. Lydia can't stop thinking about that, running it through her head -- Gigi sleeping across the hall, and Lydia here, lying in the dark. She gets up to drink some water in the bathroom, cupping her palm beneath the cold tap, and rinsing her face a little while she's at it. The floorboards creak in front of Lizzie's door, and she stops, holding her breath. The house is quiet.

She gets back into bed, turning her pillow over to the cool side, pushing aside a few stuffed animals.

"Shut up," she says aloud to herself, turning to face the ceiling. She squeezes her eyes shut. "Shut up," she says again, her voice a dry rasp.

As if George wasn't bad enough, the voice in her head says. Gigi has no interest in girls.

Lydia doesn't either, really though.

It's just _a_ girl. It's just Gigi.

 

*

 

They pack the backseat of Gigi's car with a cooler of drinks and three bags of snacks from Trader Joe's. Lydia throws her suitcase into the trunk, and plugs in her phone to charge in the front. Gigi fiddles with the GPS and resets the odometer. She takes a picture of the dashboard with her phone. After a minute, Lydia gets an alert. She's been tagged in an Instagram picture.

 _Hello, roadtrip!_ it says.

Lydia puts on her sunglasses and selects one of six playlists she's made for the trip. Katy Perry blares through the car and Gigi laugh-shouts something unintelligible. They pull away from the curb, waving at Lydia's parents, the house receding into the background, and Lydia's pulse jumping with the beat of the song.

 

*

 

The first part of the drive is all desert. Lydia stares out the window, the empty stretch of highway ahead of them, and the hills and valleys of rock and sand. It's all dust and dryness, like any moment it's going to burst into flames. Lydia's grown up here her whole life and she still doesn't really get it. It's not beautiful -- it's just...whatever. They listen to all six of the playlists, and then through again. Lydia reaches into the backseat and pulls out a bag of kettlecorn, holding it between them. She watches Gigi dip her hand in, her eyes steady on the road. She pops a kernel into her mouth as they speed past a truck in the right lane. Lydia watches Gigi suck the sugar-salt off her thumb, her tongue pink and rabbit-quick.

"You okay?" Gigi asks, glancing at her.

"Totes," Lydia says, her mouth dry. She opens her water bottle, takes a long sip. The drive's going to take forever if that's going to keep happening.

They pull over for lunch somewhere in the suburbs of Las Vegas. It's a sandwich shop in a strip mall, and Lydia thinks about the last time she was in Vegas, with George, on New Year's. It feels like a long time ago, she thinks as she chews her slightly-dry turkey sub. It's so hot that she can feel it coming off the windowpanes, even though the AC inside is cranked all the way up. Dry heat's not so bad, she's heard people say before, but she'll bet that they'd change their minds if they ever had to spend August in the desert. Gigi gets the employee manning the counter to fill up their water bottles.

"You okay?" Gigi asks, looping her arm through Lydia's as they walk back to the car.

"Just -- remembering stuff," Lydia says.

Gigi stops when they get to the car, even though Lydia can feel her skin burning, even though there's sweat beading at Gigi's collarbone. "Fuck him," she says, exactly the way she said it to Lydia in San Francisco. "Lyd -- when we get back -- when we come back here, because we _will_ \-- we're gonna make new memories, okay?"

Something fills Lydia's chest, making it feel tight and warm. "Fuck him," Lydia repeats, rolling the words in her mouth. "Fuck him."

 

*

 

They snap a quick picture of themselves outside their Best Western in Utah. The sun's setting fast around them, and the picture comes out a little too dark, but Lydia likes it anyway. They're smiling, they've got their arms around each other, sitting on the hood of Gigi's car. Lydia Instagrams it right away, and sends a copy to her mom so she knows they've arrived for the night. They unpack the car and check in, yawning, as they struggle with their bags up to their room. Lydia leans against the non-descript wallpaper in the hallway, as Gigi unlocks their door with the keycard.

"Oh my god," Gigi groans, collapsing onto the bed at the far end of the room. "I'm so tired. How can I be so tired? All I did today was sit."

Lydia can feel the ache in her shoulders from driving. She kicks her shoes off, crawls onto the other bed. "I almost don't want to go down for dinner. Almost."

"My body's at war with itself. I want to lie here, but I'm also starving."

Gigi leans over for the TV remote. There's nothing really on, so she pauses on a _How I Met Your Mother_ rerun. They watch until the first commercial break in dazed, exhausted silence. Lydia pulls herself up to rummage through her suitcase. Gigi looks almost asleep, one hand tucked by her chin, the other loose around the remote. Lydia checks her phone before she gets into the shower -- a text back from her mom, and one from Jane. She sends Jane the Instagram photo too.

"You showered," is what Gigi says sleepily when Lydia shakes her awake.

Lydia's hair's drying around her shoulders, the towel still slung around her neck, but she's put on a clean sundress and a little bit of makeup. Gigi's eyes are hooded, her smile crooked. Lydia's arm tenses at the way Gigi's looking at her, through those dark lashes, her hair all mussed.

"I think my stomach might be trying to eat itself," Lydia says, and goes back to drying her hair.

Gigi nods and gets off the bed, stretching. "I can take a hint." She grins though. "At least you'll look pretty for the self-cannibalism."

"Ew, gross," Lydia laughs even as her face heats up.

She pretends to be thoroughly toweling her hair while Gigi straightens herself out. She comes out of the bathroom with her face scrubbed clean, her cheeks pink. She doesn't need the makeup, Lydia thinks, and something twists in her stomach.

"I can't be bothered to get fancy for dinner," Gigi says, a little bit sheepish. She stretches, the bottom of her shirt riding up, and Lydia can see the pale skin of Gigi's stomach.

"You look fine," Lydia mumbles. She grabs her purse, shakes her hair out of her eyes. "Let's go."

 

*

 

It's raining when they stop for the night somewhere outside Boulder. Not too hard, but enough that Lydia's surprised by it. The drought in California has been all anyone can talk about, and the last time it rained was months ago. It's not that Lydia doesn't remember what rain is -- it's just -- she grew up in a desert, and Colorado seems like it's all mountains with actual weather. They sit for a moment after parking, taking in the stormy scene in front of them.

"Come on," Gigi finally says, turning off the idling engine.

They run out into the rain, warm against their skin, plastering their hair to their cheeks. Gigi grabs her bag and makes a beeline for the hotel overhang, but Lydia stands for a minute by the car, letting herself get soaked. It feels good, and she gets a weird rush of sudden emotion. She snaps a selfie for her sisters, grinning wide, her makeup running. She makes for the overhang, the pavement slick with rain, and almost crashes into Gigi.

"Whoa," Gigi says, catching Lydia, their bodies bumping together.

Lydia feels laughter catch in her chest, uncontrollable. She tries to regain her balance. "Oops," she says, her voice coming out strangely breathy and high.

"Careful, Lyd," Gigi says, giggling. Her fingers are cold, curled around Lydia's upper arms.

"Sorry. I just -- rain," Lydia says, waving to the rainfall by way of an excuse. She's still feeling giddy, a little bit drunk, and she isn't sure if that's from the rain or from Gigi touching her. Both, maybe.

"I think," Gigi puts her arm around Lydia's shoulders, steering her towards the entrance, "you're adorable. And also that maybe we need some drinks to take the edge off."

The hotel has a small Mexican-themed restaurant with a bar, so they go downstairs after settling themselves in. Someone's playing quiet piano music in the corner. They settle themselves on wobbly stools and Gigi orders them magaritas. Lydia drinks hers too fast, and the alcohol warms her up from the inside, tingling at her fingertips. She gets another and sips it slowly and they watch the other guests eating dinner. She's so happy, she thinks. Gigi waves down bartender for a food menu, and her hair falls forward to hide her face. It seems to Lydia that she's growing prettier by the second.

"Tacos to share?" Gigi asks, scanning the menu items.

Lydia watches Gigi's hands, slender fingers against the bar top. "Duh," she says.

 

*

 

Nebraska gives away to flatness, the scene unfolding before them for miles and miles into the horizon. Lydia drives a little too fast because the roads are wide and empty. She speeds past the occasional 18-wheeler, concentrating on the yellow lines and the rumbling of the car. Gigi dozes on and off in the passenger seat, sunglasses dangling from the v-neck of her t-shirt. They listen to Lydia's roadtrip mix over and over again, the playlists shuffling through tracks that Lydia should be sick of by now. Instead each song sends a little pang of longing through her, made worse whenever Gigi sings along.

Her voice is slightly off-key and it twists up inside Lydia, the sound filling up every crevice in her. They've been driving for three days and Lydia isn't sick of this yet; she doesn't know when she'll ever be sick of this.

They pull over on the side of the road after lunch. Lydia eases the car into a grassy space between pavement and cornfield. Gigi gets out and stretches and Lydia averts her eyes, leaning against the hood of the car. She fixes her gaze on a tree in the distance, feeling small and somehow overwhelmed by the broad blueness of the sky. Gigi takes pictures with her phone. Lydia doesn't notice that Gigi's pointing the lens at her until it's too late -- she turns -- and Gigi grins, and there's the click of the shutter.

"Sneaky," Lydia says, a light breeze causing a few strands of her hair to fly up. "I thought you were taking pictures of the scenery."

"I'm taking pictures of everything beautiful," Gigi says, warm.

It makes Lydia blush. Because everything makes her blush these days. Gigi walks over to her and scrolls through the photos for Lydia to see. Just their surroundings at first, and then -- Lydia, her features still, looking out into the distance.

"Some famous person's going to discover you in New York," Gigi says confidently. "You're going to become a world-class model, so we should enjoy this while we can."

Lydia laughs at the absurdity of it. Gigi puts an arm around Lydia's waist, pulling her close. She smells like sunlight, Lydia thinks, and there's something very comforting in it. She thinks Gigi's going to take a selfie of the two of them, but instead she slides her phone into her back pocket. She leans back against the car and lets out a little sigh. Lydia relaxes into Gigi's touch, trying not to think about where their hips are touching, and how Gigi's thumb is hooked into the front pocket of Lydia's jeans. If Lydia turns her head, she could find Gigi's mouth with her own, and the possibility of that, even as an accident, sends a thrum through Lydia's whole body. Her skin is buzzing.

"I wish we could drive forever," she says quietly.

Gigi squeezes her gently. "Me too."

 

*

 

Sixty miles later, they stop again. There's a giant billboard advertising an old historical village with a huge collection of Americana, and Gigi's eyes light up instantly when she notices it. She badgers Lydia about it for another three miles. There's no real resistance on Lydia's side. Just a desire not to give in to things too fast. But she already knew they were going as soon as Gigi said she wanted to, and Lydia's heart beats faster at the way anticipation sounds in Gigi's mouth, the way Gigi's whole face brightens. So Lydia turns off the highway, drives them away from the interstate. They roll through farmland and tiny clusters of houses.

"Take a left," Gigi says, craning her head to read a sign.

The one-story building in front doesn't give much away. FRONTIER MUSEUM, it says on a hanging sign. There are three other cars in the parking lot. Lydia glances across the street at an abandoned gas station. Gigi's already halfway to the entrance, and Lydia has to run a few steps to catch up. Gigi bounces on the balls of her feet as they walk through the door.

"You're so excited," Lydia teases as they weave their way towards the ticket booth.

Gigi laughs, a delighted sound. "Yeah. I don't know. This just seemed really promising. Plus, it's a roadtrip. We have to do this kind of stuff."

"Yeah. Definitely," Lydia says.

Gigi pays for their tickets -- a whole $6 each -- and the middle-aged woman behind the counter hands them each a pamphlet with a map of the village.

"We're here," she says, circling a building labeled A on Lydia's map. "This is the entrance and the gift shop. We also house all the vehicles. Just follow the arrows, and you'll come out into the village. Take your time. Are you two sisters?"

Lydia shakes her head, folding the map back into shape. "Just friends."

"We're driving from California to New York," Gigi chimes in.

"Oh my gosh, that's a long drive. Are you going for fun?"

Gigi smiles. "We're going to visit her sister. Lydia's never been to New York."

The woman nods. "Oh, it's amazing. So big. You're going to have a wonderful time."

Lydia trails Gigi into the next room. It's full of stagecoaches and old cars, and they wander through the aisles, reading plaques and making little noises of interest. This stuff isn't really Lydia's thing normally, but it's kind of nice. Afternoon sunlight comes through the windows, setting off dust motes, and the whole place smells like old wood. It's quiet too. They're alone. Lydia takes her time, walking through, taking everything in. Gigi takes the occasional picture, but mostly she just looks.

Eventually the car models start to blur together, and Lydia tells Gigi she's going ahead to the village. She walks out into a circle of old-timey buildings around a grassy square. There's an old man in suspenders dozing on a bench in the middle. She unfolds her map to see which building is which. She knows it's just a set-up thing, a tourist attraction, but she likes imagining life here -- people going from their houses to the school to the post office. There's something romantic in the simplicity.

She's in the schoolhouse when Gigi catches up with her, standing at the teacher's desk at the head of the room and looking over the small room.

"Oh, this is _awesome,_ " Gigi says. "It's just like I imagined from books." She sits down at a desk in the front row and looks towards Lydia. "When I was little, I used to play school by myself. Sometimes William would play with me, but I mostly played with my stuffed animals."

Lydia leans her elbows against the teacher's desk. "Old-timey school?"

"Yeah." A smile tugs on the corner of Gigi's mouth. "I was kind of obsessed with old-timey things. Blame Laura Ingalls Wilder."

"Jane and Lizzie were into that too." Lydia moves from the front of the room to sit at the desk next to Gigi's. "They used to set up in the basement and play for hours." 

"You weren't into it?"

Lydia shrugs. "I wasn't really into things that happened in the past. I really only liked stuff that was present-day. I thought it was boring, you know? Plus, Lizzie hated it when I played with them."

Gigi reaches across the space between them, and takes Lydia's hand. Her fingers and warm and soft, slender between Lydia's own. It's like turning on a switch -- suddenly all the nerves in Lydia's hand are alive, pulsing, and she wonders if her palm is too sweaty. Gigi rubs her thumb back-and-forth against Lydia's life line. She doesn't say anything; she doesn't need to. That's the nice thing about being with Gigi. There's so much Lydia doesn't need to say.

"I think," Gigi says, her expression serious, "that we need to go raid that general store by the entrance for candy. You up for it?"

"I'll race you," Lydia says, scrambling out of her seat immediately.

She's at the doorframe before she hears Gigi's footsteps behind her, and then she's bursting out into the sun, the light warm on her shoulders, laughing and laughing and laughing.

 

*

 

In Iowa they find a romantic comedy marathon playing at a tiny little cinema. Tickets are $10 for a double-feature of _When Harry Met Sally_ and _You've Got Mail_ , so it's a no brainer. They're New York-themed, Lydia points out, though it's hardly necessary since Gigi's already running to get tickets. They buy a giant tub of popcorn with too much salt and two Cokes with extra ice and sit side-by-side in the back of the theater. There's a couple off to the side, close to the middle, and a few other people scattered through the audience, but it's a pretty empty room. Lydia and Gigi kick off their flip-flops and put their feet up against the seats in front of them.

The theater smells like mildew and butter, and there are old art deco lamps hanging from the ceilings. Lydia likes everything about it immediately -- the old stained carpeting, the worn plush seats, the way everything's too air-conditioned and cold. She and Gigi eat handfuls of popcorn and watch Meg Ryan fall in love twice and it's one of the best days Lydia's had in a long time. Gigi's pressed against her side, the two of them sharing an armrest, and every few minutes she'll lean in and whisper something funny and observational in Lydia's ear, her breath warm on Lydia's cheek.

They walk out into the 10 PM darkness and back to their hotel. Lydia's hopped up on sugar and caffeine, and her hands are still slick with butter flavoring, even though she's gone through a whole wad of napkins. Gigi's wearing this navy sundress with white piping and it's the cutest thing Lydia's ever seen. She's torn between wanting the dress and wanting Gigi, and she can't keep her eyes from straying to the exposed skin of Gigi's back, and the constellation of freckles disappearing beneath the fabric. She wants to trace them with her fingers, map them and see where they go.

She's never felt about a girl the way she feels about Gigi. With George -- well, that was different. That's colored by so much else: rage and guilt and a swirl of tangled emotions that Lydia's not sure she'll ever be finished sorting through. But whatever it was with George, it's not how she feels about Gigi. There's this want inside of her, this ache, and it spreads through her, slowly and sweetly, whenever Gigi smiles.

Gigi smiles at her right now, and Lydia feels her heart speeding up in return. She shakes her head a little to clear it, and says to Gigi, "Hey, we should FaceTime Lizzie and Darcy. Let them know how we're doing. Rub our vacation in their faces."

"I don't think they'll mind. They're too wrapped up in each other," Gigi says. She sounds almost wistful.

Lydia feels longing break open in her. She swallows past it. "Well, they deserve a little interruption from their siblings."

"Yeah," Gigi grins. "They do."

 

*

 

Gigi promises her a party in Chicago. A rooftop party, overlooking the sunset, with sweet-smelling flowers and Christmas lights and cold gin served in mason jars. It's the kind of party Lydia needs a white dress and bare feet for, like it's a photoshoot for Urban Outfitters. Gigi drives them into the city, looping around the tall buildings, and beneath the L. They get a little lost looking for Gigi's friend's place, one-way roads and alleys, depositing them on the wrong streets. They circle around the block twice and manage to find parking right in front of the apartment building. Gigi bounds out of the driver's seat. Lydia follows more sedately, shouldering her backpack, hoping it won't be too awkward.

"Oh my god!" Gigi shrieks when the door opens.

"Oh my god!" Gigi's friend Sam shrieks back.

There's hugging and yelling and more hugging, and eventually Gigi pulls back and takes Lydia by the hand. "Sammy, this is Lydia. Lydia, this is my best friend from college, Sam. She's kind of the greatest, and we never get to see each other -- "

"Which is obviously my fault, for moving to the Midwest," Sam laughs. She's got her dark curls piled up on top of her head, messily pulled together. She's so tall -- and beautiful -- olive skin and a bright grin and Lydia can see exactly why she and Gigi got along so well. They remind her of each other. "Come in, come in."

Inside, the apartment is big and cool, with tall ceilings and hardwood floors. Sam takes them on a little tour, winding their way through the spacious rooms, introducing them to her roommates. One of them is another friend from college, Cole, and he talks animatedly about his photography masters, which makes Gigi laugh so hard she almost falls over. Apparently he's gotten way more pretentious, she confides to Lydia, as Sam shows them the bathroom and kitchen.

"You'll be in Kacey's room. I hope that's okay." Sam opens the door. "She's gone home to England to visit her family for a few weeks. I put clean sheets on the bed."

Lydia hesitates for a second in the doorway, but Gigi walks right in, unfazed. She lies down on the bed and the mattress squeaks beneath her weight. Lydia takes a seat on the edge, away from Gigi. She takes in the room. It's cozy, painted a soft yellow, with a white bookshelf stuffed full and a small rickety desk. The sheets are cool and soft beneath her fingers.

"So. The party," Gigi says, her voice brimming with eagerness. "The rumor is that Cole's ex-boyfriend is coming. The one who was married? But now he's divorced and single and, apparently, wants to get Cole back. I don't know if that's going to happen."

"What are our plans tomorrow before the party?" Lydia lies down too, her head next to Gigi's. She stares up at the ceiling while she talks, mindful of how close Gigi is. How the bed is small, and it forces them together.

"Sleep in. Enjoy coffee on that roof. Not drive. Eat an awesome lunch."

Lydia lets her eyes flutter close. Gigi's shoulder is touching hers. "That sounds amazing," she murmurs.

 

*

 

She does sleep in -- way later than she anticipated. It's 11 before she wakes up, her phone chirping that she's got three new texts. Lydia blearily scrolls through them. Jane wants to know logistical stuff about their arrival, and her mom's sent a photo of produce prices from the supermarket, but the one from Gigi is the one that just pinged. _coffee's in the kitchen for you, sleepyhead ;),_ it says. Just that winky emoji makes Lydia's stomach flip. She gets out of bed and pads into the kitchen, her eyes still crusted with sleep and her hair probably sticking out everywhere.

Gigi's humming at the stove, pushing scrambled eggs around in a pan. They're alone in the house. Outside, there's birdsong, and Lydia takes a minute to watch Gigi -- barefoot and still in her cotton sleep shorts, with her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail -- and something sharp pierces through her. She wants to put her arms around Gigi's waist, kiss the bare nape of her neck. Instead she clears her throat softly to let Gigi knows she's up, and goes over to the coffeemaker.

"Oh hey," Gigi says, waving the spatula. "Eggs?"

Lydia pours herself a mug of coffee, adds sugar and milk to it until it turns a pale brown hue. "Yes, please." She pushes herself up to sit on the counter, swinging her feet, and sips her coffee. "I can't believe we get a real breakfast."

"I woke up like twenty minutes before you and thought -- why not? Breakfast sounds good."

"You should've woken me up," Lydia says.

"You were still sleeping pretty soundly." Gigi moves through the kitchen fluidly -- cracking more eggs into a bowl, dumping the shells in the sink. She whisks them with a fork. "I didn't want to disturb you."

"Do you want help?"

Gigi shakes her head. "Thanks, I'm good. They're just eggs. It'll be ready in a minute."

Lydia takes another gulp of coffee. The sunlight plays off of Gigi's hair, dark wisps escaping the ponytail and curling around her face. Lydia's heart clenches and releases in her chest -- once, twice. Gigi dumps a pile of steaming scrambled eggs onto a plate, sprinkled with chives, and walks over until she's standing in front of Lydia. She spears a bite onto a fork and holds it expectantly by Lydia's mouth. Lydia bends her head to eat it; she can feel Gigi's eyes on her, warm and strange.

"Really good," she croaks.

Gigi smiles. "Awesome. I'll make some toast and we can go eat it on the roof."

 

*

 

Everything Gigi promises Lydia comes true. Down to the mason jars of cold gin. Lydia sips her drink, letting the alcohol warm her stomach, as she wanders the party. She's wearing a white dress she borrowed from Gigi, and the skirt poofs out when she twirls. Lydia does -- twice in the yellow room with Gigi downstairs -- and once beneath a string of white lights on the roof, music pulsing around her. She's barefoot too, her shoes long since kicked off and abandoned beneath the picnic table in the corner. She's met so many of Gigi's friends from college that she's pretty sure she knows Gigi's entire graduating class.

The sun sets across the neighborhood, disappearing behind a line of trees. Lydia gets mired in a conversation with Sam and Sam's boyfriend, Aaron, for thirty minutes before she realizes how much time has passed. Every so often Gigi's glance will find her across the crowd, their eyes locking, and the shock of it goes straight through Lydia's body. The careful way Gigi looks at her, sometimes it makes it hard for Lydia to breathe. She tries not to keep looking for her, and she always does.

Still, the party's a good distraction. The music's good and it's fun, and she likes Gigi's friends. There's more food and some beer pong (which Lydia watches, but doesn't play) and several games of Cards Against Humanity scattered throughout the party. There's dancing too, though Lydia doesn't get to it until everything's almost winding down, and Aaron's roommate asks her if she'd like to, like they're at a middle school formal. He's cute, Lydia thinks, and she likes his dimple, and she's also really tipsy, so she says yes and it's okay. It's actually kind of nice.

She excuses herself afterwards, goes to sit down near the edge, overlooking the city lights. The breeze feels good against her sweaty skin. People are starting to dissipate, and she can hear the sounds of clinking bowls and dishes, trash being thrown away. She'll help them in a minute. Lydia drinks half a glass of water, thinking about how much closer they are now to New York, how eventually this trip will end. It'll just be one more thing that's happened to her.

"Hey." Gigi takes a seat next to her, holding a drink carefully so it doesn't spill. "What's up?" She edges towards Lydia until their arms are touching.

"Enjoying the view," Lydia says. "What about you?"

"Same," Gigi says.

Lydia takes another gulp of water. "I liked your friends."

"Good, because they love you. I think they like you more than me, actually."

No one in the history of the world has ever preferred Lydia to Gigi -- even Lydia's own sisters. So. That's just patently untrue. "No way."

Gigi bumps her shoulder with her own. "Yes, way. Why wouldn't they? You're amazing." Her smile is crooked, sweet.

So Lydia kisses her.

Because it's as simple as that -- Gigi's smile, the string of white lights above their head, the distant sound of music and people. Lydia leans over and ducks her head, kissing Gigi with her heart thumping loud in her ears and chest, her fingers still clamped tightly around the glass of water in her hand. The kiss is soft and wet, Gigi's mouth falling open beneath Lydia's own, and she makes a small little gasp, more like a sharp intake of breath. Lydia can barely register all the sensory details -- touch and taste and sound. There's something rushing through Lydia, adrenaline maybe, and she can feel her hands shaking.

Gigi pulls away, their lips making a slight smacking noise. She touches the corner of her mouth, coming away with smeared lip gloss on her fingertips. Lydia thinks she might die. From everything. But mostly the sort of confused expression on Gigi's face. This was a mistake, and now she needs to go throw up into the toilet downstairs until she feels better. She tries to stand up.

"Wait," Gigi says quickly, grabbing Lydia by the wrist, and standing too. "Lydia, stop."

Losing Gigi might even be worse than George, Lydia thinks, and it knifes through her body. "I'm sorry," she gets out, trying to twist away so she can avoid looking at Gigi's face. "I'm so sorry." 

"No, I -- please, don't be."

Lydia stops. Her face is red, and her breaths coming fast, but she stops. Gigi's still holding her, fingers wrapped tightly around Lydia's wrist, her thumb pressing into the palm. She's so stupidly beautiful -- that smudge of lip gloss by her mouth, her slightly disheveled hair, her cheeks flushed.

"I really like you," Lydia finds herself saying suddenly. "Like, more-than-friends like you. And I get it if that's weird for you. I promise, it's fine. I just wanted to tell you because -- because it didn’t seem fair not to, but I don’t need anything from you. It’s okay if you don’t feel the same. I just, I just want to keep being friends with you.”

“No, Lydia, I -- I really like you too," Gigi says, her voice low and quiet. "More-than-friends like you."

"Oh." Lydia waits for the words to sink in, for the moment to become real. But it doesn't. Not yet, and she wonders if she should kiss Gigi again. "I -- okay.”

Gigi licks her lips and looks down at the ground. "Can we -- um. Can we just -- put a pin in this for now? Just until we can, you know, talk about it." Her gaze darts to the rest of her friends, still lingering, helping throw solo cups into trash bags.

Lydia closes her eyes. Opens them again. There's a catch in her chest. "Sure," she says.

"If you want to go -- "

"Yeah. I think I maybe had too much to drink. I should take a shower or something. Wake up. Can you, um, say goodbye for me?"

Gigi nods. "Sure."

Lydia gives her another look, Gigi's expression somewhere between confusion and anxiety, and heads for the door back to the stairwell. She doesn't really breathe until she has the door closed behind her, leaning over in the dark with her hands on her knees.

 

*

 

It's been at least an hour.

Lydia lies with the lights off in Kacey's yellow room, the box fan in the window cranked up to high. The curtains are open, and the glow of the streetlight illuminates the walls. Her wet hair's fanned out on the pillow. She should've blow-dried it before getting into bed, but she couldn't muster up energy to care about how her hair's going to dry funny. Gigi's still upstairs, and it's close to 1 in the morning, and Lydia's uncomfortably warm, even with all the blankets kicked off. She turns onto her side, facing the fan. Maybe they'll just talk in the morning. If Lydia can ever manage to fall asleep.

The door creaks open behind her. Lydia's heartbeat picks up, going from zero to sixty. She tries not to move, worried that she'll make a noise, startle Gigi. She can hear Gigi changing clothes, rustling, and then the bed dips to accommodate the extra weight. Everything goes quiet again, except for the white noise of the clanking fan. Lydia steadies her breathing.

"Lyd?" Gigi whispers, barely audible above the noise. "You awake?"

Lydia gives it a second. She tries to wait another one, but can't. She turns around, facing Gigi. "Hey."

Gigi touches Lydia's cheek. Her eyes are warm, and the too-big collar of her t-shirt reveals the smooth knob of her shoulder. "I changed my mind," she says softly, "I don't want to put a pin in it."

"You -- you want to talk now?" Lydia asks, unsure.

Gigi shakes her head. "No," she says, and Lydia doesn't have time to wonder what she means by that before Gigi leans in to kiss her, and Lydia’s arching up to meet Gigi’s mouth.

 

*

 

The next morning Lydia’s not quite sure what to do. She wakes up before Gigi, and pads around the room as quietly as she can, gathering her things and packing them away. It feels like she’s just going through the motions, though, as if she’s seeing things from very far away. Like she’s not exactly in control of her own body. It’s a very strange feeling, floating like that, and distracted by the memory of Gigi’s lips pressed just _there_ , at her collarbone, or _there_ , Gigi lightly biting her earlobe. It makes Lydia hot and shivery. She’s just wrestling her hair into submission when Gigi wakes up, turning over in the bed.

“Hi,” Lydia says, whipping around from the mirror, nervous.

Gigi blinks at her before she smiles, her hair messy and sticking up on one side, her eyes crinkling. She’s so gorgeous Lydia has to tell herself to breathe. “Hi.”

“Did you, um, sleep well?” Lydia asks, fiddling with her hairbrush.

“Really well.” Gigi kicks the sheet off her, and gets up, stretching. She takes a few steps over to Lydia, and reaches for the brush in Lydia’s hands, loosening her grip. Gigi presses a soft kiss to Lydia’s hairline. “I’ll do your hair for you. If you want.”

“Yes,” Lydia says, and she starts to grin, unable to help it. “Just -- one second.” She quickly kisses Gigi, their noses bumping slightly. “I wanted to -- um -- good morning.”

Gigi catches her by the shoulder and kisses her again, lingering for a moment. Lydia’s eyes flutter close. “Morning.”

 

*

 

Lydia drives them to Cleveland, one of the back windows cracked open, and hot summer air rippling through the car. Gigi holds Lydia’s hand, their fingers interlaced over the gear shift, and even when Lydia’s hand gets cramped and uncomfortable, she still doesn’t want to let go. They talk about the party and New York and so many things, but not about them, and not about what happens after, but Gigi rubs her thumb across Lydia’s knuckles and Lydia finds that it’s hard to be anywhere else but here. Now. With Gigi.

They pull over for a bathroom break once they hit Ohio. Lydia waits outside the building for Gigi, sitting on a sun-warmed picnic table, swinging her legs over the side. Everything’s so green here, lush and leafy. She looks down at her feet and realizes she needs to repaint her nails -- her old aquamarine polish is peeling. When she glances up again, Gigi’s walking out towards her, and Lydia digs her fingers into the splintered wood surface. Gigi’s her -- something? Maybe?

“You,” Gigi says, brushing Lydia’s bangs from her forehead, “are so fucking cute.”

They kiss for the first time since leaving Chicago, Gigi pressing her body against the table, and Lydia wrapping her arms around Gigi’s neck. Shy, almost, but she wants to be so much braver. She can feel it pulsing beneath her skin -- the push to trace her fingers down Gigi’s arms, circle her waist. It’s so new, all of this. Gigi’s so _delicate_ , not like boys with their solid bodies. Gigi’s softer, gentler, her mouth more subtle and sweet -- but it’s the same hunger Lydia recognizes on her tongue.

“I kind of thought -- “ Lydia starts to say, their foreheads pressed close together. She stumbles on her words, trying to find the right ones. “I thought this would be confusing. I guess.” She doesn’t mean it to sound bad, but it occurs to her that it might. So she kisses the corner of Gigi’s mouth very softly, just in case.

Gigi lets out a small breath. It fills the space between them. “I think I know what you mean.”

“Have you? I mean, with girls?” Lydia asks. “Because I haven’t.”

“No. Not really. I mean, Spin the Bottle in high school, but that doesn’t count. I’ve never -- not like this.”

Lydia leans back to study Gigi’s face. “Really? No Katy Perry, I-Kissed-a-Girl stuff?”

“Really really.”

“Then.” Lydia takes a deep breath. “Is this, like, for real?”

Gigi takes Lydia’s wrist and draws it closer to her face. She kisses the pulse point there and Lydia feels it through her whole body, vibrating. “Yes. Is this for real for you?”

“Yes,” Lydia answers.

“We’ll make it work,” Gigi says then, firm and certain, and Lydia’s heart leaps at that.

“I think I’m going to like dating a girl,” Lydia smiles. “Aside from the obvious clothes-sharing part. I’ve basically just doubled my wardrobe, you know.”

“So many benefits,” Gigi says, and pulls Lydia to her feet. “Come on, beautiful. We’ve still got hours to drive.”

 

*

 

“My mother’s going to have a coronary,” Lydia says in the car.

Gigi won’t stop laughing.

 

*

 

They don’t see much of Cleveland.

Lydia’s okay with it, and she’s pretty sure Gigi is too.

 

*

 

Their last day of driving is bittersweet. Gigi pats the hood of her car before they get in. Lydia knows it’s ridiculous to feel this way -- they’re driving back, after all -- but it’s not going to have the same anticipation. Home is what waits for her at the end of the return trip, home and months without Gigi while she puts in her transfer requests for schools in San Francisco.

“Not months,” Gigi had said, the two of them curled up in bed that morning. “We’ll see each other. At least once every two weeks. I’ll come down. You’ll come up.”

“Spring semester in San Francisco,” Lydia had promised.

It takes them all day to get to New York. Lydia tries to sit still in the passenger seat, but she finds herself impatiently plucking at her seat belt like a kid again. She texts Jane updates every hour about the traffic conditions and their ETA, and Jane responds like she always does, upbeat and patient. God, her sister’s a fucking saint. There’s a space for Gigi’s car in their apartment garage, and tonight Lydia wants to sit on Bing and Jane’s balcony and hear Manhattan around them, drinking wine and holding Gigi’s hand.

“Not Times Square?” Gigi says. “You don’t want to go to Rockefeller Center?”

“Not tonight,” Lydia says. “But definitely tomorrow.”

Gigi squeezes Lydia’s hand when they cross the George Washington Bridge, the Hudson falling away below them, and the lights of Manhattan blinking on the other side. Lydia clutches at Gigi’s fingers as she stares at out the window at the dark water and endless city spilling across her vision.

“I can’t believe we’re here,” she says.

It takes them another hour at least to get through traffic to Jane and Bing’s place on the Upper West Side. The two of them are waiting for Gigi and Lydia outside their building, and they wave eagerly when the car’s in sight. There’s shrieking and hugging and excited jumping (all Lydia) when they pile out of the car with their things, letting Bing and Jane usher them into the elevator.

“You made it,” Jane says, putting an arm around Lydia.

Next to them, Gigi’s animatedly telling Bing about something they saw in Nebraska. Lydia catches her eye and they smile.

“We made it,” Lydia says, triumphant.

 

*

 

The air outside is hot and sticky, but Lydia doesn’t care. She sits on the balcony anyway, enjoying the view from the 17th floor. It’s loud -- the sound of traffic below, motorcycle screeches and cars honking -- and everything is humid, but it’s also kind of perfect. Behind her, the balcony door slides open, and Jane sits down next to her. She hands Lydia a glass of red wine and looks out over the city.

“What do you think so far?” Jane asks.

“Well,” Lydia laughs, “I love it.”

Jane smiles. “Yeah, it’s different, but I really like it a lot. I miss home too, and you and Lizzie and Mom and Dad. But Bing and I are really happy here.”

“We miss you too, but I’m really glad you two are happy,” Lydia says, finding that she means it. She takes a sip of her wine. “Hey, Jane, can I, um, ask you something?”

“Yeah, of course, Lydia.”

“Do you… What… Um.”

Jane puts down her wineglass. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. _Yes._ I just wanted to know if -- I guess -- I’m dating Gigi,” she blurts out. “Sorry. That wasn’t a question.”

“Oh.” Jane stares at her, surprise written all over her face. “I -- wow.”

“Is that…too weird?” Lydia asks.

“No, no. Well, a little bit, I guess, if I’m being honest. But a good weird.” Jane straightens her back and leans in a little towards Lydia. “Are you happy?”

“ _Really_ happy,” Lydia says. “It’s -- it’s a really good thing, Jane. And a new thing,” she adds, quick. “So don’t, like, say anything please. We haven’t told anyone.”

“Of course.” Jane’s expression softens. “That’s amazing, Lydia. That’s really great.”

“I kind of feel like things are…going okay, you know?” Lydia says.

“You’re doing so much better than okay.” Jane brushes Lydia’s flyaway hair back. “You’re doing wonderfully.”

There’s a knock on the doorframe. Gigi’s standing there, barefoot, changed into an old t-shirt and shorts. She holds up her glass of wine.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to interrupt -- “

Jane stands up. “Nope, not at all. Actually, I have to go and call Mom and tell her that you guys made it safely.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” Lydia asks, starting to stand also.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll bring it out here. You two sit.”

Gigi sits down in Jane’s chair after she’s gone inside, sliding the door shut behind her. Gigi pulls her seat closer to Lydia’s, so they’re side-by-side, and she can rest her palm on Lydia’s knee. Lydia puts a hand over Gigi’s, weaving their fingers together.

“I told Jane about us,” she says.

“And?”

“She’s happy.”

Gigi grins. “I thought she would be.” She lightly runs her index finger across Lydia’s skin, bringing up goosebumps. “Hey,” she says. “We’re in New York. What do you want to see tomorrow?”

Lydia looks at Gigi, her eyes shining. “Everything,” she says. “I want to see everything with you.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic of] Searching For a Sound We Hadn't Heard Before](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3524666) by [knight_tracer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/knight_tracer/pseuds/knight_tracer)




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